


tell me 'bout the mystery dance

by cumaeansibyl



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Consensual Non-Consent, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/M, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Roleplay, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22794043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cumaeansibyl/pseuds/cumaeansibyl
Summary: Aziraphale's been playing the bashful virgin in bed and enjoying it quite a bit. Crowley wants to know what all the fuss is about.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 40
Kudos: 384





	tell me 'bout the mystery dance

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the category: Crowley starts off using he/him pronouns, but switches to she/her for a _really_ tropey "deflowering the innocent maiden" roleplay because it's Crowley's turn to be the maiden.
> 
> This trope involves a lot of pretended reluctance. Both parties are enthusiastically consenting and the boundaries have been negotiated in advance.

“Here, angel,” Crowley said one afternoon, quite out of nowhere, “how come you always get to be the damsel whose virtue gets smirched?”

“It’s besmirched, dear, and it’s because I’m so pretty.” Aziraphale didn’t bother trying to keep a straight face, especially when Crowley pouted at the implication. “What’s brought this on, my dear?” 

“You, obviously. Look at you, back at it _again_.”

Aziraphale looked down at his book, bearing the title _Seduce Me, Rogue_ in pink foil letters, and had the good grace to blush. “Oh, well, I suppose I have rather been on a kick lately. You don’t mind all the… roguery, do you?”

“No! No no no. It’s just...” Crowley twined his ankles around each other. Aziraphale closed the book he’d been reading and set it aside, deliberately shifting his full attention to the demon, who writhed further and looked over his shoulder as if someone behind him might come to his rescue. “Well, you like your end so much, I was wondering what… what’s that all about.”

“For me, it’s the scandal of it,” Aziraphale said, not missing Crowley’s hesitation. “Doing something tremendously naughty. And then -- the idea that I can’t be held responsible, however naughty it is, because I can’t stop it happening.”

“Rmph. That’s not what I was… ugh.” Crowley knocked back the last of his wine. “I ever tell you about my first time?” The angel shook his head. “Was shit, really. They sent me to tempt some chieftain or whatever, I don’t even remember what people in charge were called back then. This was before I figured out I could just get two horny people together and save myself the bother. So off I go, I get the guy in bed, and it just… _sucks_.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale said softly.

“No no no, nothing _bad_ happened,” Crowley said hurriedly. “Nothing like what you’re worried about. Only he lasted about two minutes, and he slobbered on my tits to boot.”

“Eugh,” said Aziraphale. "I'm still sorry."

“Yeah. Most of my times with humans were like that, if I’m honest. Not _bad_ bad, just -- bad. And we’re doing all these first time scenes, you know, and...” Crowley filled his glass and gestured roundly with the wine bottle. “You know, and I know, that virginity is horseshit. But that doesn’t mean I can’t wish my first time had been just a little bit less rubbish. Maybe even…”

Aziraphale, used to waiting while Crowley tracked down errant words, let the silence hang at first. Crowley looked more reluctant than confused, though, as if he knew the words he wanted but wasn’t sure he had a right to say them. That also wasn’t uncommon, and Aziraphale, when he sensed the demon wouldn’t continue on his own, said gently: “Maybe even a little bit special?”

“Uuuggghhh,” Crowley groaned, flopping backward over the arm of the couch so the top of his head nearly touched the ground, which meant _yes, and I hate that you knew that._

“I hardly think that’s anything to be embarrassed about, my dear,” Aziraphale said, sensibly reaching out and plucking the wine bottle from his hand. “In fact, I think it’s rather romantic.” 

Crowley made an even worse noise, one that meant, roughly, _I know you are making this harder on purpose_ , and contemplated his wine glass. “At risk of being told that I’m splitting hairs,” he said at length, having decided against trying to drink upside-down, “it’s not about romance. It’s about… that guy didn’t care, y’know? He didn’t try at all. Hence it sucked, when it didn’t have to.”

Aziraphale nodded. “That is a part of the ravishment fantasy, isn’t it?” he mused. “That the wicked seducer isn’t solely concerned with his own pleasure.”

“Right. Like maybe he… maybe he likes that he’s her first and he can… aaargh.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. “Words, angel, I can’t right now.”

“I think I may be beginning to understand,” said Aziraphale, with a little smile.

“Well, good, because I’m not sure I do,” said Crowley. “Feelings are hard enough without throwing sex in on top.” He then put his wineglass to his lips, having forgotten his previous misgivings, and promptly spilled wine up his nose. Aziraphale, who had been waiting for this, passed him a handkerchief and tried not to laugh. It wasn’t as hard as it might have been -- his mind was already at work.

\---

When they’d done it before, they usually played it close to reality, with Aziraphale as a more innocent angel and Crowley as a nastier demon. They both had to admit, though, that they couldn’t quite make that work the other way around. “Being more dominant isn’t the issue,” said Aziraphale.

“Sure isn’t,” said Crowley.

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale preened a bit. “But I can’t quite see an angel doing it except as… oh, some sort of _smiting_ , and that’s not where I think you want this to go.”

“I’m not not into that,” Crowley said, “but yeah, that’s not the point of this particular routine. The point is… right, you know how you get, when we’re doing it that way and I call you filthy names?”

“Oh, yes,” Aziraphale said, going a little pink.

“I don’t want you to do that to me,” Crowley said. “I’ve _been_ a slut, nothing wrong with sluts, great people, but the novelty’s worn off, you know? What’s new for me is being, um…” He looked hopefully at Aziraphale, but the angel wasn’t going to help him with this one. “Can I even explain how dirty it feels to say this?” 

“You don’t have to explain,” Aziraphale said, “but you do have to say it.”

Crowley took a deep breath and shut his eyes. “ _Innocent_ ,” he said, and Aziraphale didn’t miss the little tremor that ran through him. “I mean, no demon’s ever been… _that_. Which is why, if we’re going to play it like that, I think we have to be people.”

“Ooh,” said Aziraphale. “I shall have to have a costume.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine, but I pick the time period.”

\---

It was Regency England, which rather surprised Aziraphale at first, but now that he saw himself in pantaloons -- which he’d never worn, going straight from breeches to trousers -- he thought perhaps Crowley had been on to something. “A good leg, sir,” he said to the mirror, examining the buttons along the calf. He’d gone for soft dove-greys with a royal blue embroidered waistcoat, lighter than anything his roguish character would wear but darker than anything he would have chosen for himself. The point, of course, was to _not_ be himself, but he had some very specific goals in mind and he didn’t want to get too distracted by the trappings of the rôle.

\---

He crept along the passage, listening as he went, though it was hardly necessary. The master of the house was out of town, his colleagues downstairs had subdued the household staff, but Aziraphale, gentleman thief, cared less for such spoils than for the key he’d obtained from a complicit housemaid -- the key to the room where the earl’s lovely daughter slept.

There she lay as he closed the door behind him, tender and rumpled in her simple chemise, curls of her red hair escaping its nighttime braid to fall softly on her cheek. Aziraphale settled himself on the side of her bed and brushed her hair back with gentle fingers.

“Hmm?” Crowley’s eyelids fluttered. She looked up at him, uncomprehending at first, and then she realized what she was seeing and opened her mouth to scream.

“Shhh,” Aziraphale said, clapping one hand over her mouth and pinning her shoulder to the bed with the other. “None of that, now, there’s a good girl.” He ducked his head down and grinned in her face, as if the two shared a delightful secret. “Can I trust you to stay quiet?”

Wide-eyed, she nodded, and he took his hand away. “Who are you?” she whispered. “What are you doing in my house?”

“Oh, I’m a very bad man,” he said softly, stroking her hair again. She quivered at the touch but held still. “My mates and I are here to take what we want. I’m afraid you won’t have anything left when I’m done with you.”

“My jewelry’s in the case on the windowsill,” Crowley said quickly, “and the silver’s in the pantry, the butler has the key -- take anything you want, only please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? Oh, never,” Aziraphale said, and kissed her forehead. She gasped and went rigid underneath him, and he kissed her cheekbone, the curve of her jaw. “But it’s not your jewelry I want.”

“You don’t mean -- oh, no.” Crowley tried to push him away now, but he shifted himself fully onto the bed, pinning her with his weight. “I don’t -- please, you can’t, I never have.”

“Never?” Aziraphale brushed her lips with his and sighed when he felt her draw a sharp breath. Privately, he harbored some very unangelic thoughts about anyone who failed to show proper appreciation for the incredible gift of a night with Crowley, especially that long-ago boor who’d been her undeserving first. “Now I call that a scandal and a shame, a lovely thing like you.”

She flushed angrily at the praise and he kissed her again, at first just a warm pressure as she struggled underneath him. Then he touched his tongue to her lower lip, and his whole body thrilled when she made a soft sound of surprise and her mouth opened to him. His tongue found hers, stroking slow and hot, his kisses gentle but overwhelming in their soft persistence.

“Please,” Crowley said, breathless and bewildered when he finally pulled away. “You mustn’t do this, it’s not right -- ah!”

Aziraphale had found the most sensitive spot on her neck, right above her collarbone, and nipped it -- not hard enough to bruise, he didn’t want to mark her, but enough to send a shock through her body. “What’s wrong, darling?” he cooed, sliding a hand up her body to cup her breast through her chemise. “Don't you like it?”

“I -- oh -- you wicked man, stop, please...” She tensed under him and arched her back as he rubbed the side of his thumb over her nipple. 

“Wicked? But I only want to make you feel good,” he whispered in her ear. “Just lie back and let me. You’ll like it so much, I promise.” He grinned down at Crowley and saw her realize exactly what she’d let herself in for.

Aziraphale wouldn’t have described his lover’s natural tendency as _dominant_ , but neither could he quite make the word _submissive_ fit. Crowley loved being told what to do -- _to Aziraphale_. It turned out that, even when she was supposed to be following directions, she had a nasty little habit of changing course mid-proceedings if she decided Aziraphale was paying too much attention to her. _Come on, angel, let me touch you, I want to taste you so bad, please, please, I need to feel you inside me --_

Aziraphale enjoyed giving Crowley pleasure at least as much as he enjoyed receiving it, but he wasn’t made of stone, and he could almost never resist Crowley’s heartfelt pleas (much less the accompanying arguments made with hands and teeth and tongue). But the earl’s lovely daughter would ask for nothing of the kind. The earl’s lovely daughter wouldn’t know the first thing about sexual congress, wouldn’t know how to please a man, would barely know what to do with herself. She certainly wouldn’t slide her dainty hands between a stranger’s legs and beg to suck him off. 

She would only -- and Crowley was now fully understanding this -- lie back and take what she was given.

Aziraphale kissed her again, his free hand coming up to untie the ribbon of her chemise, letting the neck fall loose and open around her shoulders. She was still trying to push him away, but her efforts grew weaker as he tasted her mouth. At last, when she shivered and went pliant underneath him, he drew back and pulled her chemise down, baring sharp collarbones and small soft breasts.

“Oh! Oh, please!” she cried, trying to keep the fabric up. He chuckled and pinned her wrists gently on either side of her head. “Please don’t --”

“Don’t what?” he asked with a wicked little smile, and bent to press his hot mouth to her breast. She cried out again and he felt her nipple grow hard and tight as he slipped his tongue back and forth across it, a steady building pace that had her gasping and pressing her hips up against him. He let go of her hands to wrap his arms around her, delighting in how cool and smooth the skin of her back felt against his warm hands, how fragile she felt enfolded in his strength. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he moved to her other breast, sucking firmly with just a hint of teeth. Broken words fell from her lips -- _please, can’t, what, oh_ \-- but she wasn’t trying to stop him anymore.

“So beautiful,” he sighed, rising up to look at her. Her chemise had bunched itself around her elbows, and he gathered it up in two fistfuls, pulling it the rest of the way down to reveal her narrow hips and slender legs. Crowley squeaked (though she’d never admit it) and her hands flew to cover the soft curls gathered at the apex of her thighs. “No, no, don’t hide yourself from me,” Aziraphale purred, brushing her hands away. “Let me look at you. Let me see how lovely you are, my own.”

“I’m not _yours_ ,” she protested, but Aziraphale could see that Crowley wasn’t terribly interested in prolonging the defending-her-virtue portion of the script. Her hips were twitching, little involuntary thrusts that she never made unless she was _very_ aroused, and he could tell she wanted to touch him -- but even if the earl’s lovely daughter decided to embrace this wicked stranger without reservation, she would hardly be up to taking the initiative.

“Not yet,” Aziraphale said, running a hand down her soft stomach and brushing his fingers over her mound. “But you will be, won’t you? Let’s see if you’re ready for me.”

He felt a little giddy as he slipped his fingers down between Crowley’s legs, trailing them lightly back and forth between her outer lips, elated at the heat and slickness of her. He hardly ever got to do this, not for any satisfactory length of time, because Crowley always decided it was time to do something for him instead. Even now she tried to wriggle away, but the movement brought his fingers up against her clitoris and she let out a yelp. It was just surprise at the sensitivity, though, not pleasure -- not yet.

“Oh? Is that it, then?” Aziraphale murmured in her ear. “Right… here?” He stroked her clit with one finger, slick and smooth along the side of the hood, and Crowley whimpered. 

“What is that?” she gasped. “Oh -- oh my goodness -- what are you _doing_ to me?”

“Shh.” He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her jawline, two fingers now working her in a gentle steady rhythm. “Don’t fight it, sweet girl. You were made for this pleasure, can’t you feel it? You know something this good can’t be wrong.”

“Please, it’s so -- I -- aaanh!” Crowley clung to his shoulders, trembling all over. “It’s too much, please --”

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Aziraphale said, rubbing quick and firm, feeling her back arching under him. “Yes, you need this, don’t you? Let it go for me, darling, do it for me. _Give it to me_.” Crowley’s head dropped back and she screamed as her climax shuddered through her, stunning Aziraphale as always with the power and beauty of her body.

At last he felt her shivering on the edge of overstimulation, and he eased off, though still pressing his fingers gently against her, not wanting to break the contact. She hid her face in his shoulder, trying to catch her breath, and he kissed the crown of her head. He needed a moment himself, really, or he’d never make it through his plans for the night.

“That was…” she said at last.

“Ah, I told you you’d like it. But we’re not done yet.” He shifted down her body, dropping a kiss between her breasts as he went. “There are so many ways I can have you, my darling girl. So many pleasures I want to give you.”

Crowley stared down at him, and they both felt the scene pause for a moment. “But what about you?” Crowley asked, and under her character’s naive curiosity was her own genuine discomfort at being the center of attention. “What do you get out of it?”

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale said. “I get to be the one who makes you feel like you’ve never felt before.” He slipped his middle finger between her folds and worked it slowly into her, watching her as she watched him. She was visibly struggling not to reach out, to distract and divert him, even as his unremitting focus on her struck something fragile at her core. “You can’t even imagine what it’s doing to me, my dear. Watching you come for me, knowing I can do it again, and again…”

Crooking his finger, he pushed up firmly and drew it toward him, beckoning, and she cried out. “Yes, just like that,” he hissed, sliding another finger in and massaging her G-spot slow and hard, feeling her body go taut. “How could I see you like this and not want more? Say you want it too, darling, say you’ll let me give you everything --”

“Yes, please, _yes_ \--”

Aziraphale bowed his head to her and ran the tip of his tongue up one side of her vulva, then the other. She whined in desperation, and he flicked his tongue against her clit, quick and delicate in contrast to the strong rolling motion of his fingers inside her. Caught between the two, Crowley came again almost before either of them realized she was close, and Aziraphale may have worked a trifling miracle to keep his tongue on that one perfect spot as her hips bucked.

Aziraphale hadn’t deliberately ignored his own arousal, but he’d been so focused on Crowley’s pleasure, so determined to say and do all the things she normally evaded, that he’d simply had to put it aside. Now, as the muscles of her cunt clenched and fluttered around his fingers, he was all at once desperate, and he fumbled at the fall front of his pantaloons. Sensibly, he’d foregone undergarments, and he only had to push aside the tails of his shirt to bring out his hard cock. 

He moved back up and kissed Crowley deeply as she came down from her orgasm, but he could feel her still tense against him, unsated. His erection rubbed against the crease of her thigh, and she shuddered, throwing her arms around him and hiding her hot face in his neck. “Please,” she whispered, her breath coming quick and short. “I want it, but please -- I haven’t --”

“Of course, of course,” he soothed her. “Trust me, my darling, and hold on tight.” 

He gripped his prick, feeling his fingers still slick from her, and pushed the head of it against her clit, then lower down. She groaned softly and tried not to thrust against him as he rubbed himself up and down a little, getting the head wet and adjusting it to slide between her lips.

Aziraphale looked at her face on the pillow, flushed and yearning, and marveled at how the demon Crowley could project total naivete. It must’ve been a useful trick at times, but here it was a little more than that. The earl’s lovely daughter, all innocence and purity, was trusting him to care for her in this most vulnerable moment, to reward her yielding with the pleasure it deserved. Crowley, too, could let go of whatever intimidated or shamed her about this -- could surrender to Aziraphale, and let him see what he did to her -- under the thin veil of this little game.

Aziraphale touched his forehead to Crowley's and began to slide into her, slow and sure. She gripped his hair, breathing hard, her eyes shut tight, and he knew it was different than the other times she'd done this -- even the times _they'd_ done it -- because she'd shown him something that scared her to reveal. That was what it would mean for them now, this one act that everyone thought meant so much, but had no meaning save what it was given.

He began with a few slow thrusts, shifting the angle of his hips until he found one that made her moan and pull at his hair. Then he braced himself on his elbows and fucked her just like that, slow and forceful, the delicious friction of her cunt around his cock setting him alight all over. "Darling," he gasped, "my love, my dearest, my own," and that was surely over the top for even the most amorous rogue, but Crowley was holding on for dear life and crying "angel, angel, angel" against his shoulder. She wrapped her legs around him and drew him tight against her with each thrust, urging him deeper.

Aziraphale was prepared to hold off by any means necessary, but Crowley was already keyed up, her hips and thighs straining as she chased a third climax. “Harder,” she gasped, and Aziraphale drove into her with all his strength. “Yes --” and then she cried out in a high breathless voice, her legs locking around his hips hard enough to hurt for a moment as her whole body clenched. Aziraphale felt her inner muscles contracting on his cock, squeezing and releasing, and he kissed her through it as she shuddered, kissed her as he came with a deep, aching sweetness.

They didn’t stop kissing for some time afterward, seeking and receiving warmth, assurance, security. Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s hair at her temple, his heart so full of love and gratitude he couldn’t speak it, could only try to tell her like this. She had gone loose and relaxed against him, kissing him back with languid movements, and he felt her smiling against his lips.

“What?” he asked, his lips still touching hers.

“You.” She shook her head, but her smile was warm, if a little rueful. “And here I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“Noticed what, my dear, the thing you do almost every time we have sex?”

“Oh, no.” Crowley buried her face in his shoulder, but he could feel her snickering. “I’ve become _predictable_.”

“Only to someone who knows you like I do.” Aziraphale shifted to kiss her again, light and soft. “You really must let me indulge myself on occasion, Crowley. Think of it that way, if you must.”

“Is that how you think of it?” she said. Her eyes were very bright in the shadows.

“Don’t you enjoy making me feel good? I certainly hope so, my dear.”

“Of course I do, but that’s…”

“Do not say ‘that’s different.’ It’s not.” Crowley looked away. “Crowley.”

“I’m working on it, okay?” she said, still not looking at him. “Letting myself have good stuff. It’s just, that’s a lot to handle during sex? It’s easier to just -- do something else.”

“Oh, my dear.” Aziraphale turned her back toward him, let her hide her face again. “I know how hard you’re working. I see how much better you are than five years ago, or even a year. Did you know that?”

Crowley went very, very quiet. Finally, in a small watery voice, she said: “no?”

“How terribly remiss of me,” Aziraphale said. “I shall have to tell you more often -- and you shall have to let me show you.”

“Ugh, _fine_.” Crowley sniffled and flipped herself over in one smooth twist, snuggling back against him. “Since you’re an utter _dastard_ , you can start by being the big spoon.”

“As you wish, your ladyship.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Elvis Costello and the Pretenders, “Mystery Dance” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0MNf2Rztn8)
> 
> One celestial wahoo to superstar beta [Laura Shapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/), and another to my life coach [voidbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidbat).
> 
> I'm on tumblr at cumaeansibyl, come say hi!


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